The Sixth Sense
by Noura
Summary: Nothing indicates their arrival; no sound, no pop. They're just there, you turn around and see them. And they disappear just the same way. They're dead, but they're not ghosts. And only Harry can see them. How?Why? Find out. 5th year, H/G, R/H
1. Default Chapter

The Sixth Sense  
  
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K.Rowling and not me. I'm just having fun during my spare time.  
  
A/N: I got severe writer's block and couldn't continue my other fics (at least for now) so I decided to try a new story. Hope you like and enjoy!  
  
Chapter 1: How it All Began  
  
The clouds hung in the sky outside Number 4, Privet Drive in Surrey. It was still early afternoon on that dreary summer day, but Harry could tell a storm was coming soon, probably in the evening. He approached the piece of white paper hung on the wall of that small room that had all the days of the month on it: a mini- calendar he'd made. Sighing, he crossed off August 20th, even though the day wasn't over yet. Only eleven more days: he could make it, couldn't he?  
  
He hadn't gone to the Weasleys that summer; Dumbledore had insisted firmly he was safer here with his relatives. Harry hadn't even bothered to ask the reason of that. Perhaps it was better he was staying here anyway; they ignored him here and these days Harry was in no mood to talk to anyone.  
  
"Boy! Get down here!"  
  
Rolling his eyes, the fifteen-year old trudged down the stairs in answer to his uncle's call and found them all crowded around the tall living room mirror. Aunt Petunia was sitting in a chair, a hairdryer in her hand, her blond hair sitting in rollers and looking too big and puffed out for her long, thin face. Her cheeks were red and her face was smudged with overdone makeup. She wore a flashy black evening gown and was muttering to herself as she tried to fix the makeup, while Dudley screamed at her to come help him with his bow tie, which had somehow got stuck on his pudgy face and was sitting over his nose. Uncle Vernon was proudly trying to comb his moustache with a toothbrush. Harry couldn't help smiling slightly; this family thought wizards were freaks.  
  
His uncle turned around and spotted him. "When we're gone," he barked at him, "I want you to-"  
  
"Stay sitting quietly, without touching anything, calling anyone, or speaking to anyone, and no funny stuff," said Harry in a bored tone. He'd heard this at least fifty times that day.  
  
"Right," growled the beefy man, giving his moustache a final rub. "I'm warning you boy." Harry nodded disinterestedly, and Vernon gave him a last glare before turning to his family.  
  
"Right, hurry it up will you?" he said impatiently. "We can't be late." His aunt nodded, took the rollers out of her hair, and with enormous force, yanked the bow tie off Dudley, who cried out dramatically. "You'll have to go without one, sweetums," she cooed sympathetically.  
  
*Just get out of here, already,* thought Harry. His delightful relatives were leaving for an important dinner party at one of Uncle Vernon's business associates in London, and probably wouldn't be back till early evening. Old Mrs. Figg from next door wasn't there to 'baby-sit' him, as she had left a few days ago, saying mysteriously that she was 'on vacation'. The Dursleys weren't too happy about leaving Harry alone in the house, but finally consented as it was only for a few hours.  
  
Aunt Petunia was smiling as she put on her coat. "Little Dudders (Harry smiled at the 'little') is going to behave himself like a good boy and impress all those men, right honey?"  
  
His cousin nodded angelically then smirked at Harry. The young wizard ignored him; he couldn't give a damn about the Dursleys, and only hoped they would get a good soaking in the storm, if there was one.  
  
"We're locking you in," said Vernon as a way of farewell, before slamming the door in his face. And then they were gone.  
  
Harry sighed and climbed back up to his room, flopping onto his bed. He had already finished all his school assignments, and they were currently under the loose floorboard in his room, along with the birthday presents he'd received that year. His trunk and other belongings were in his room this time, as they had actually let him keep them with him as long as he didn't use anything magical.  
  
He leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. The best thing to do right now was to make use of the peace in the house and take a nap. Recurring nightmares about Cedric and Voldemort had kept him from regular sleep night after night, and a bit of slumber right now would do him good.  
  
His eyelids drooped over the emerald green of his eyes, which were covered with dark circles that contrasted with his pale face. Before long he had dozed off.  
  
**Gray eyes turned to him, flashing dangerously. "It's all your fault! You killed me, Harry! How can you live with yourself knowing what you did? How?!"  
  
"No, Cedric, please, you have to understand, I-"  
  
But the tall HufflePuff was gone. The gray eyes were now red slits, the soft, innocent lips were a thin, cruel line, the skin was abnormally white.  
  
"Where is he?!" screamed Harry. "What did you do with him? What-" He broke off into sobs, and the Dark Lord laughed mirthlessly, his long, skeletal hand pointing to something on the ground. Harry turned and screamed. Cedric lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide, staring, and dead, his face streaked with inhuman scars.  
  
A loud blast of thunder was heard, and lightning flashed, illuminating the body for a second. And Voldemort laughed.  
  
Harry sat up, gasping, his hand reaching out to wipe the sweat from his face and rub his burning scar. Should've known I couldn't have a little snooze without.  
  
The sound of the cracking thunder turned his attention to the window. Outside, the sky was dark, except for the flashes of lightning, and the storm was raging. He glanced at the new watch Hermione had gotten him. It was ten thirty in the evening. Harry frowned; he had slept longer than he'd thought. The Dursleys were supposed to be back by now.  
  
He padded across the room and clicked on the light switch. But the room stayed enveloped in darkness. Oh, great, the electricity's gone. Just what I need. He resisted the urge to use his wand, for he knew it would just land him in trouble.  
  
He crept out of the room and dared to glance inside the open doorway of his aunt and uncle's room. No one was inside. Frowning, he felt his way downstairs, his hands gripping the banister.  
  
"Aunt Petunia?" he called out softly. "Uncle Vernon? Is anyone there?"  
  
His calls were met with silence. They're probably just late. Or they got caught in the storm and are spending the night in London, without bothering to tell me, of course.* He didn't want to consider any other possibilities. He didn't dare.  
  
Thinking quickly, he went back up to his room and felt around for the familiar drawer of the small bedside table. He pulled it open and groped inside, his hands finally resting on the plastic flashlight. Harry clicked the switch causing a beam of light to escape and cast dark shadows on his face. Suddenly all Harry could see were shadows that he wasn't sure weren't part of his imagination. He shivered, images of Cedric filling his brain again.  
  
The rain had lessened and all that remained was the pitter-patter of the water as it hit the ground. There was still the occasional roar of thunder, however; other than that there was an eerie, black silence that Harry found even more unnerving. A shudder quivered up his spine.  
  
**"Kill the spare.kill the spare!"**  
  
He screamed in frustration. **Can't that bastard leave me alone for one damn night?!** And then, as though mocking his thoughts, a white-hot pain seared his scar, and he collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily.  
  
Something was definitely wrong. Harry didn't like the feeling he was getting. He rose slowly from the bed, his left hand gripping the flashlight tightly. Holding the light to his trunk, he opened it with his other hand and rummaged about until he had found his wand. He held it securely, feeling slightly better. Just in case.  
  
*Come on, Potter. You're getting paranoid after.the third task.* He nodded. That was it; Voldemort was back and that was giving Harry the willies. Nothing more. He went downstairs again slowly. Maybe he'd fix himself a cold sandwich.  
  
*Didn't Petunia say they'd be back by eight thirty at the most? It's eleven.*  
  
He shook his head firmly, trying to drive the thoughts from his head, and entered the kitchen. Resting the flashlight on the counter, he got out some toast and was reaching inside the fridge for the butter..  
  
His hand froze in midair. Something told him to get out of the house. Now. Anywhere but here. And as fast as he damn could.  
  
He couldn't send an owl; Hedwig was away delivering a letter to Sirius.  
  
His heart racing fast, he grabbed the flashlight and sped up the stairs. He was gathering his belongings and piling them in the trunk when he heard the familiar pop of wizards Apparating downstairs. Voices floated towards him. He couldn't understand their low murmurs, but one voice he recognized, a silky, arrogant drawl: it was Lucius Malfoy's.  
  
*Oh, shit. I'm dead. Literally. What to do? What to do??*  
  
He thought quickly. Silently, he placed a featherlight charm on the trunk and put on his invisibility cloak. To hell with underage magic.  
  
It would be too risky to go down, even with the cloak. He left the flashlight, said *Lumos,* grabbed the trunk and sped as fast as he could towards his aunt and uncle's bedroom, where the window had a ledge.  
  
The voices came nearer. They were upstairs and in Dudley's bedroom. He opened the window with sweaty fingers, his heart beating so fast against his chest it almost hurt.  
  
"He must be in the other room!"  
  
Without even seeing if the drop would be too high, he was in the air. He was going to make it.  
  
He landed on his feet, his knees buckling from the height. Ignoring this, he ran ahead unto the road, thrusting his wand out.  
  
*Come on; please come, please, please.* Nothing. His heart sank. What now?  
  
But a second later, there it was. Harry could have wept with relief. A large bang, and the three-story bus was there. Harry threw off the cloak, and when Stan Turnpike appeared cut him off before he had barely opened his mouth.  
  
"I'm in a hurry, Stan. I need to get to London." He jumped on. He could see figures by the front door of the house.  
  
Stan stared at him, saw the urgent look on his face, and hopped on behind him, the door slamming after them. And then they were rattling off.  
  
It took Harry a few moments to regain his composure. He leaned against the wall of the bus, breathing heavily. He only relaxed when the bus had left Privet Drive with a bang, and was on a completely different road.  
  
" 'choo lookin' so scared for, 'Arry Potter?"  
  
"Oh, um, nothing. Sorry I barged in like that. Like I said, I'm kinda in a hurry." He smiled nervously.  
  
"A'this time of the nigh'? Hey, Ern! Look' oo's 'ere!"  
  
The driver turned around, looked at Harry curiously, smiled, and grunted in greeting.  
  
"Erm, Stan, I'll be taking a bed, with the hot chocolate, please." He paid thirteen silver sickles and sat down, ignoring the nauseating feeling in his stomach as the bus swerved and banged and scattered everything in its way. He had other things on his mind.  
  
How had the Death Eaters found him? And what had happened to the Dursleys? Harry had a queasy feeling he knew the answer to that one.  
  
And now what? He had to send an owl to Dumbledore as soon as possible. He shivered; the Death Eaters had come so close to getting him. Next time he wouldn't be so lucky. It was only a matter of time..  
  
The bus stopped at a small village and a tall, fat witch wearing an enormous blue hat and an orange dress with green bubbles stepped out, screaming at Stan that she was never taking a ride in that damn bus again.  
  
"Righ' erm..good evein' to you too, Mrs. Legrand!" he called after her.  
  
"Tha's our only passenger other tha' u," he told Harry. "'xpect no one wants 'ta go out on a nigh' like this."  
  
Harry shivered. "So where'll you be goin'?"  
  
"Diagon Alley," said Harry.  
  
Another bang, and again the bus was on a completely different road. The pitter-patter of the rain was still heard coming from the black, starless night sky, and Harry sat quietly on the bed, sipping hot chocolate, lost in his thoughts. He didn't look out the window, for fear of what it would do to his already churning stomach. Stan Turnpike shot him curious glances now and then but said nothing.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, the triple-decker bus crashed to a stop in front of the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry hastily said goodbye to Stan and the driver, gathered his trunk and stepped out into the cold night air. Behind him the bus disappeared. He was alone.  
  
*They can't get me here; there are lots of people around.*  
  
Nevertheless he gripped his wand tightly in the pocket of his jeans as he entered the tiny pub that hid the entrance to Diagon Alley.  
  
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and bustling, and a merry fire lit the hearth. There were a few wizards sitting and talking or reading the Daily Prophet. They looked up as Harry entered, and he nervously flattened his untidy black bangs over his scar.  
  
Tom the old innkeeper gave him his trademark toothy grin. "Hello there Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"  
  
"I want a room for the next few days, please."  
  
"Certainly." Harry asked how much for a night, paid him (the Minister had probably paid the last time he'd come) and followed Tom, who carried his trunk down the familiar passage to a pleasant room, not unlike the one he remembered staying in last time.  
  
The innkeeper left him after he had bid him a good night, and, exhausted, Harry flopped on the bed, closing his eyes and surrendering to slumber, fully dressed.  
  
*~*~*  
  
The usual nightmares awoke him early the next morning; it was seven a.m. when Harry rubbed his weary eyes and splashed cold water over his face. The events of last night came flooding back to him, and he cursed himself as he realized he should've found a way to send news to Dumbledore as soon as he'd arrived. He had to tell him about the break- in, and soon.  
  
He dragged himself into a muggle shirt and jeans, and when Tom came to bring him his breakfast, he asked him if there was any owl he could use. "I got one, she's out deliverin' a letter, should be back soon. You can use' er then."  
  
Harry thanked him, picked at his breakfast, and decided to head off to Gringotts. He needed more money if he was going to stay here for the rest of the summer and buy his school supplies as well.  
  
He went down the passageway and into the main inn, where he caught sight of a copy of the Daily Prophet on a small coffee table next to a man sitting in an armchair, his legs crossed, reading a large book that hid his face.  
  
He had been anxious about news from the wizarding world since the beginning of summer, and though the letters from Ron and Hermione assured him that there were no appearances from Voldemort, he still felt the need to catch up. He hesitated slightly before approaching the wizard. Something about him seemed familiar.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, are you done with that newspa-"  
  
The man looked up, putting his book down, and Harry froze.  
  
The sneering face of Lucius Malfoy looked back at him.  
  
*Holy shit.* Harry looked around frantically. There were other people in the inn; the Death Eater couldn't do anything to him. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around his wand, which he kept in his pocket at all times now.  
  
"Well, well, fancy meeting you here, Harry Potter," the blond man drawled pleasantly.  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes, his right hand which held his wand leaving his pocket slightly. Malfoy's gaze followed the direction of Harry's arm and laughed softly, then stood up and leaned in closer. He looked down slightly so that his face was level with the boy's.  
  
"I'm not going to do anything now, with people watching," he said, now in a low, dangerous tone, so only Harry could hear him. "You're probably proud of yourself for escaping me last night. However-" There was a threatening gleam in his eye. "I'm going to tell you something, Potter, and it'd do you good to remember my advice. You can run, but you can't hide. The Dark Lord always wins."  
  
His voice had dropped to a menacing whisper. Harry's hand shook slightly, both with fear and anger. "We'll have to see about that, won't we?" he said, his own tone low.  
  
Malfoy chuckled. "We definitely will, Harry Potter." He closed his eyes slightly, and he reached out a slim, pale hand, which brushed the scar on Harry's forehead. A jolt of electricity passed through him, not like the searing pain he had felt when Voldemort had touched him, yet very strange and unlike anything he'd experienced before. It was uncomfortable, and Harry shivered. Malfoy laughed again and removed his finger.  
  
"You can have that paper if you wish, my boy," he said loudly, in a cheerful voice. "I'll be seeing you soon, I hope." He secretly shot Harry a meaningful look, and with that, he was gone.  
  
Harry stood there frozen for a few long moments, his mind racing. Then, forgetting about the newspaper went to Diagon Alley, his strides quick and purposeful. He wondered if anyone could see through him and find out how disturbed he was, and how afraid he was feeling. He didn't even want to think about what Malfoy had meant by that last comment. Maybe a threat. Maybe not.  
  
After he had taken money from his vault at Gringotts, he wandered over to Fluorish and Blotts. He was going to buy advanced books for defending himself, for he knew he would feel much safer knowing dangerous spells that he could protect himself with, and at least he should know a bit more about dueling.  
  
He stood in front of the display window of the shop, looking at the books that were lined up for people who were outside to see.  
  
He caught sight of a large book with a black cover, that had yellow writing on the front: *Attack: The best form of defense, by Laurel De Banc.*  
  
He edged closer, studying the cover, and jumped when he heard a voice behind him. "I would take that if I were you."  
  
Harry whirled around, his wand out instinctively. The dark blue eyes that looked back at him were unfamiliar to Harry. The man looked to be around in his fifties or sixties, he was tall, with rough black hair that had a few streaks of gray in it, and was wearing navy blue robes. There was something strange about his eyes, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it.  
  
"I'm sorry if I scared you," said the man, his lips turning up in what looked like a genuine smile. His eyes twinkled merrily.  
  
Harry reddened slightly and put his wand back in his pocket, but he kept his hand on it anyway. This man was a stranger. "Not at all," he muttered.  
  
"I just couldn't help but notice you looking at that book. I know it very well, and I can assure you it's very useful if you want to know how to attack, as well as always be ready on your feet, even if you're taken by surprise."  
  
"Thank you," said Harry politely. "That's exactly what I was looking for."  
  
"Glad I could help," the man smiled. "I'm interested in defense myself; in fact, I used to be an Auror in my day." his tone was wistful. He cleared his throat. "I'm Robert Mckinnon," he said, holding out a hand.  
  
Harry hesitated slightly before shaking it. "Harry Potter."  
  
"I know," said McKinnon, but he wasn't looking at Harry's scar. "You have Lily's eyes," he said softly. "Your mother was a good friend of mine."  
  
Harry smiled uncomfortably. Suddenly he had remembered the memory of Lily Potter coming out of that wand.  
  
"I've got to go, Harry. It was nice meeting you; maybe I'll see you again sometime." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the man was gone as soon as he had appeared.  
  
*Probably Disapparated,* he thought, absentmindedly watching a couple of witches walk by. The streets were almost empty today.  
  
As he pushed open the door to the shop, he heard a very familiar voice from inside.  
  
".and I'll be needing twenty copies of *Standard Defense Mechanisms for When You're in Need,* and ten of *Quick-to- do Potions that Can Save Your Life* for the library."  
  
"I'll have them at the school by today evening, Headmaster. Anything else?"  
  
"No, that's all, thank you," Albus Dumbledore turned around, and Harry felt truly safe for the first time since last night.  
  
"Harry? What are you doing here?"  
  
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I- well, it's kind of a long story, sir."  
  
Dumbledore looked at him, fixing him with his penetrating blue gaze. "You've left the Dursleys, haven't you," he said in a low voice, so the shopkeeper wouldn't hear.  
  
Harry nodded. "I had to.Death Eaters," he said quietly, looking away. He wondered if Dumbledore would notice his tired face and the lines under his eyes.  
  
Dumbledore frowned, his eyes clouded with concern. "I didn't hear of an attack."  
  
"There wasn't any. The- the Dursleys were out last night, and I felt that something was wrong. Then I heard people Apparating and recognized Mr. Malfoy's voice. So I ran for it. Out the window. By the Knight Bus. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron."  
  
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to be considering something. Then he looked up. "And you're all right?"  
  
"Fine," Harry muttered.  
  
"I'll go back with you to the Leaky Cauldron; we can talk there, alright?" The old man's face was grave.  
  
"Yes, Professor. I want to buy something here first though, if you don't mind."  
  
"Take your time, Harry."  
  
He approached the shelves, found the book the stranger had advised him, and took it to the shopkeeper to pay for it.  
  
"Ah, that's a good choice," said Dumbledore as Harry gave the man a galleon and took the book.  
  
Harry nodded, pleased. "I thought it'd help with, well." He shifted uncomfortably.  
  
Dumbledore nodded understandingly as he pushed open the door and they left the shop. "Harry, you have every right to feel this way. It's all right to be afraid, you know. And it's good you're doing something about it."  
  
"I don't know how much help reading will be, though," said Harry. He walked quickly to keep up with the tall wizard's long strides. "But you said this book was good, and so did that wizard I saw."  
  
"What wizard?" Dumbledore cut him off, frowning.  
  
"Oh, he saw me looking at the book outside and advised me to get it. Maybe you know him professor, he used to be an Auror. Said he knew my mum."  
  
"Did he say his name?"  
  
"Yeah, I think it was.Mc- something or other.oh yeah, McKinnon. Robert McKinnon."  
  
Dumbledore came to a halt on the road. He looked at Harry strangely. Harry stopped beside him, puzzled. "What- what is it?"  
  
"Harry.."  
  
"What? Is something wrong? Is he a supporter of the Dark side?"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head.  
  
"Harry, Robert McKinnon has been dead for sixteen years."  
  
A/N: Done! I hope you liked it, and please review. I can't guarantee the next chapter'll be this long, though. 


	2. The Weasleys Arrive

The Sixth Sense  
  
Chapter 2- The Weasleys Arrive  
  
Disclaimer: Everything you don't recognize belongs to me, and everything you do recognize doesn't.  
  
A/N: Thanks a lot to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I really enjoy writing this, and if you bear with me you'll find it turns out to be some plot, and some romance. (I hope it will!: ) ) For now, enjoy!  
  
Harry gaped at the wizard before him, his eyes wide.  
  
"Dead? But-but he can't be dead..I *saw* him..he was talking to me!" he sputtered.  
  
"Perhaps it was another Robert McKinnon," said Dumbledore calmly.  
  
"Yeah..must've been," Harry frowned. But two Robert McKinnons who had been Aurors and had known Lily Potter?  
  
"What did he look like?" The Headmaster resumed his pace again, and Harry hurried along beside him, trying to remember.  
  
"Middle-aged..no, older, - I think- black hair, he had dark blue eyes..I remember they were strange eyes."  
  
"How do you mean, strange?"  
  
"I- I don't know, professor..there was just something weird about them..like they were all wrong."  
  
"Robert did not have eyes like that- indeed though, they were dark blue. As was his hair dark, but- I suppose there are lots of people who have dark hair and blue eyes." He paused, looking thoughtful.  
  
It was still too much of a coincidence to Harry. "Maybe I saw his ghost..?"  
  
"As far as I know, he did not become a ghost when he died- not all wizards do, you know- besides, he couldn't have been a ghost if he was solid and looked like any other man," said Dumbledore.  
  
Harry wondered why some wizards became ghosts when they died and some did not. Maybe those who did had unfinished business in the world..  
  
"How did he die?" he asked suddenly.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "As many wizards did at that time sixteen years ago, when Voldemort was at the height of his powers. The McKinnons were very powerful, they were known for fighting with our side. Robert was an Auror, he was killed fighting Death Eaters. It was around the time just before his downfall.." He nodded towards Harry, who absentmindedly fingered his scar.  
  
He thought hard..that couldn't be the same McKinnon..could it? Maybe it was his brother, no, Dumbledore would've said if he had a brother.  
  
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Professor, there are potions to get the body of someone else, right? Like Polyjuice, maybe. What if it were a Death Eater in disguise, wanting to confuse me?"  
  
Dumbledore was smiling at him. "You have a good brain there Harry- (Harry reddened)however, any potion like that would require a part of the person you want to become, and as probably Mr. McKinnon's body by now is, well.."  
  
"Yeah," said Harry quickly. He didn't think he'd like the mental image.  
  
"I wouldn't worry about this if I were you, though. There are probably millions of possibilities to explain who you saw, and right now there are more important things at hand. While I must admit this is most peculiar, we can just let it aside for the time being."  
  
Harry nodded, but he still couldn't help feeling unconvinced. 'Dumbledore's right,' he tried to reassure himself. 'In the magic world, there could be a million ways to see something that wasn't there, or whatever. Besides, I have enough on my mind right now.'  
  
They had reached the magical entrance to Diagon Alley and they left through it to the Leaky Cauldron, where Tom greeted them and at Dumbledore's request, led them over to a private parlour where they could talk discreetly.  
  
"Now, tell me about that attack," said Dumbledore seriously, taking a sip of tea which had been brought in. "You're sure it was Lucius Malfoy and his men?"  
  
"Yes, I'm positive. Mr.Malfoy admitted it to me himself today- I saw him in the pub."  
  
"You saw him here?"  
  
"Yes. He threatened me, but he couldn't do anything with all those people around, I guess."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, his hand stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We must find out what has happened to your relatives, of course."  
  
The Dursleys. He'd completely forgotten about them. "Do-do you think they have them?" he asked hesitantly. "It is possible," replied Dumbledore. "How else could they have gotten to you at the house, if not by getting them to lead them there?"  
  
"You don't mean- by Imperius?" Somehow he doubted that Uncle Vernon would give directions to his house to a bunch of freaky looking black- robed figures who had ambushed them, out of his own free will.  
  
"Precisely."  
  
Harry fiddled with his fingers. Were the Dursleys safe? He hated them with all of his being, but it didn't mean that he was fine with it if they were- murdered.  
  
"Harry, leave the Dursleys to me; I will see if I can track them down and find out where they are. They might even have returned them home, though I doubt it. *You* concentrate on staying safe. I don't want you leaving the inn alone, not even into Diagon Alley."  
  
"What? But I'll be fine, professor, really! I-"  
  
"Harry, it's for your own safety. It'll only be a few more days until term begins anyway."  
  
The tone in Dumbledore's voice told Harry the subject was closed, and he decided it didn't matter anyway. So what if he went out for walks? Nothing would change. It was better, anyway, if he stayed cooped up in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, blaming himself for Cedric's death, Voldemort's return, Wormtail's escape..all of it. And at night he would close his eyes, knowing that the nightmares would plague him yet again, that Voldemort would be there, and Cedric- it was inevitable. And then he would wake up, breathing heavily- he had taught himself not to cry out- and then spend the whole day blaming himself again, and so on.  
  
He turned to Dumbledore. "If you say so, sir," he said tiredly.  
  
"Harry," the old wizard said gently, "are you all right?"  
  
He wasn't, he hadn't been for two months, but he didn't say that. "I'm fine, really.."he said, staring at the fireplace. The crimson flames danced merrily, but that did nothing to lighten his mood. It wasn't the first time that his gloomy mood came suddenly like that. Sometimes he would be feeling completely normal, and then it would descend on him, driving dark thoughts into his mind, much like a dementor.  
  
Dumbledore pierced him with that penetrating blue gaze, then, "You haven't been sleeping well, have you,"  
  
Harry set his jaw firmly but didn't answer.  
  
"Harry.." "Please, don't worry about me," said Harry quietly.  
  
The headmaster sighed. "I cannot force you to say anything." He reached inside his robes and pulled out a small bottle that Harry recognized, a bottle he had been dying to get his hands on for weeks..  
  
"Sleeping Potion," Dumbledore said, handing it to Harry. "That's fine if you want to deny it," he said before the fifteen-year old could say anything. "Just take it, alright?"  
  
"Thank you," he said softly.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "I should get going," he remarked, standing up. "Oh, the Ministry have been wondering about the magic used in Privet Drive; I shall let them know it was an emergency case. I'll see you at school, Harry."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?" he said before the wizard could Apparate.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What-" he swallowed, "What's new with, I mean, did anything happen..Voldemort?"  
  
"No, he hasn't made an appearance yet- but be on your guard."  
  
"And Sirius, is he all right?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "He's fine, he sends his regards, and so does Professor Lupin."  
  
Harry nodded, relieved. Now he could go and brood in peace.  
  
"I shall be in touch," said Dumbledore, and then he was gone, leaving Harry standing there and clutching the bottle of Sleeping Potion tightly.  
  
*~*~*  
  
*Taking your opponent by surprise- a well-known, commonly used maneuver; however, few have truly mastered it. You could lead him to believe that you are weakened, or disabled, and as such, catch him off guard. Some consider this technique cowardly..*  
  
Harry rubbed his tired eyes and flipped to the next page of the book he'd bought. Somehow he didn't think all the books and spells in the world would help- in the end, he was going to face Voldemort again no matter what. Still, he had to be prepared..  
  
A noise to his right brought his attention to the window of the comfortable inn room. Harry grinned in delight as he spotted the snowy-white owl beneath the glass.  
  
"Hedwig!" he exclaimed, pulling the window open and letting her playfully nip his finger. He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out some old biscuits he'd kept from the Dursleys.  
  
"Here you are girl, sorry- they're all I've got now."  
  
As the owl busied itself with eating, Harry eagerly untied the note from its leg and read.  
  
*Dear Harry,  
  
Dumbledore told me about what happened -are you all right? I was crazy with worry when I heard. Please be on your guard, and don't even venture a step outside the inn by yourself. It worries me that you're staying there alone. Please be careful, Harry.  
  
The Weasleys are coming to stay at the Leaky Cauldron soon (perhaps today)- that'll definitely make me and Dumbledore feel better. Still, Mr. Weasley will be away most of the time, and I don't want you to leave anywhere with the kids except if he or Mrs. Weasley is with you. I'll be in touch, and you may see me soon.  
  
-Sirius*  
  
Harry put away the letter, smiling slightly. Well, he would be seeing the Weasleys, and maybe even Sirius not so long from now. He doubted though, that he would make good company.  
  
Why did they have to be so overprotective? Harry knew he was in danger. And he also knew by now that staying safely inside didn't make him truly safe. Soon, no one would be truly safe nowhere. He shuddered. All that was because of him, his own fault.  
  
He wondered if Hermione would be coming too. Things weren't very pretty between her and Ron lately, as she had seen Viktor Krum once and gone out with him while he happened to be in England, although she hadn't gone and visited him in Bulgaria.  
  
Harry scowled; how he wished that he could be like that, a small rivalry between friends the only thing on his mind. Ron had no idea how lucky he was.  
  
He leaned back in his armchair, his eyelids drooping. The urge to sleep was now becoming so rare that Harry took this as a blessing, and he surrendered to slumber. The slumber; however, was anything but peaceful..  
  
*The gray eyes were back, dark, haunted, and hollow. Blood streamed down the once- handsome face as though it were tears. The mouth grinned, revealing jagged white fangs. Harry shrieked, backing away from the monstrous creation.  
  
"You see what I have become? You see, Harry?"  
  
"No! It's not you, please, it can't be!"  
  
"It's me all right. Do you know how I became like this? Hideous.. dead.."  
  
"No! I.."  
  
"YOU! I became like this because of you! Every misery the world will face soon, will be your fault.." The voice lowered until it was a dangerous whisper. "Don't ever forget that, Harry, when something bad happens. Your fault.."  
  
Cedric disappeared, and a tall, black-robed figure appeared in his place. Harry started shaking violently.  
  
"The Dark Lord always wins," the high-pitched voice said, before erupting into cruel laughter. "Always wins..always wins..always wins.." The words rang in his ears.  
  
"No.." said Harry weakly. "Can't.."  
  
Voldemort laughed again, and suddenly Cedric's face- now normal- was right in front of Harry's, those gray eyes boring into his terrified emerald green. And then-  
  
"I'll see you soon Harry," he whispered. *  
  
Harry screamed, a long, blood-curdling scream. He jolted up, sweat and tears pouring down his face, his scar burning, Cedric's whisper still in his ear,  
  
*I'll see you soon, Harry..*  
  
And he screamed again. He jumped out of the armchair like a mad thing, seeing nothing but Cedric in front of him. Where was he, anyway? A door magically burst open as he hurtled towards it, and continued sprinting beneath the doorway, the screams now groans, gasping for breath.  
  
Something was ahead, something nice, if only he could get there- then everything would be all right. He ran with all his might, and then it was right in front of him. A feeling of warmth spread through him, and the next second, he had thrown himself at that something nice, wrapped his arms tightly around that something nice, and sobbed onto that something nice, until he had run out of tears.  
  
The image of Cedric was now disappearing, and instead he could see flashes of red. What a nice red- so fiery, and happy, so alive..  
  
Wait..red? Something in his brain screeched to a halt, and he seemed to be jolted back into his senses. He jerked his head back and his eyes widened.  
  
That something nice was Ginny Weasley. "Oh, my God, Ginny..I'm so sorry," he gasped. His face burning, he let go of her, staring in disbelief. "I can't believe I did that.."  
  
Hell, he barely knew the girl and had thrown himself at her like that. He glanced at her face: she was blushing even harder than him- well that was no surprise- and she seemed to be at a loss for words. Finally, she muttered,  
  
"I- it's all right, I mean- I - heard you, um.. you were screaming, and-"  
  
Harry swallowed. How was he going to explain this?  
  
"I had some stupid dream- I was still not conscious I guess, and I just jumped at the first person I saw. I really am sorry, I didn't even know it was you." He bit his lip.  
  
"Oh, um."  
  
Was that disappointment he'd heard in her voice? He groaned inwardly, remembering the singing valentine. He sincerely hoped he wasn't going to get stuck in something now. He *really* had enough of his mind, what with trying to deal with- Ron's little sister. She was a really nice person and everything, and by the looks of it had grown to be very pretty since the last time he'd seen her, but Harry wished she would find someone who could give her what she deserved.  
  
"Are you all right?" she asked suddenly, her deep brown eyes wide. "You- you look like.." she stopped, flustered. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business." She nervously tucked a few strands of red curls behind her ear.  
  
Harry smiled in spite of himself. "No, that's all right. I'm fine really, just a bit tired- nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't fix," he lied.  
  
She nodded politely but looked unconvinced.  
  
"So-um, when did you guys get here?" Harry asked.  
  
"Just now," she said. Harry noticed she wouldn't look him in the eye. "Um, the others are in the pub- Tom's finding us rooms." She paused. "I was just passing by here when, um.." she trailed off.  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah, about that, Ginny.." He cleared his throat. "Would you mind if you don't mention what you, ah- heard to anyone? I mean, I'm fine and everything, and we wouldn't want your family to worry about nothing right?"  
  
Ginny looked uncomfortable. "If you're not feeling well or- something, don't- don't you think they should know?"  
  
Harry could tell she didn't believe that he was fine and wanted to tell her parents about his having nightmares, which was the last thing Harry needed. He didn't want them worrying about him on top of everything that was going on now. He was fine; Dumbledore had given him that potion.  
  
"Yes, but I feel great, really." The words sounded false even as he said them. "And you know they'd worry for nothing.."  
  
She didn't look happy at all, but apparently wasn't brave enough to contradict him. "I guess so," she muttered.  
  
"Great, then," Harry flashed her a smile, and she blushed.  
  
An awkward silence passed between them, which Harry finally broke by saying, "Well, we better go and meet them.."  
  
"Um, yeah." Ginny cleared her throat.  
  
Soon they were walking down the passage back to the main room of the inn, Harry anticipating finally seeing his best friend after almost a whole summer.  
  
But again, he doubted he would make good company. Oh well, he'd have to try and be cheerful. For the sake of those who cared about him. 


	3. A Strange Little Visit

The Sixth Sense  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. -Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
A Strange Little Visit  
  
Harry pushed the mashed potatoes around his plate with a fork without bothering to put any in his mouth. There was a ringing in his ears from all the conversation and laughter around him, and the headache was starting again. He was used to that, though. Headaches were as normal and recurring as the nightmares.  
  
"Harry, what's wrong? You've barely eaten a thing, dear."  
  
He looked up through tired green eyes into the face of Mrs. Weasley. They were all seated around a large dinner table in the pub, and Harry's 'depression mood' had hit again.  
  
"I'm not hungry," he said, forcing a smile. "I ate a snack a little while ago."  
  
"Are you sure? You look tired," Ron's mother said, concerned.  
  
"No, really, I'm great." His eyes met Ginny's and he looked away, turning to Ron.  
  
"So...have you heard from Hermione recently?" he muttered.  
  
Ron scowled immediately. "She couldn't come, as she's with Vicky," he spat.  
  
Beside them, Fred and George snorted. "Ah, a typical love story," George said in a dramatic voice. "The best friend he's known for so long."  
  
"And suddenly discovers his feelings for her." Fred piped in.  
  
"While she's off with a world- famous Quidditch player."  
  
"Oh, the pain.!"  
  
"Oh, the mis-"  
  
"Shut up," Ron snapped, his ears as red as his hair, while Harry couldn't help laughing in spite of himself.  
  
"Why in hell you would think that I have a crush on that know-it-all is beyond me!" he yelled, and the whole table (which consisted of Ron's parents, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, and them) went silent and stared at him. Even a few people in the pub turned to look at them.  
  
Fred sniggered. "Reckon you said that a little too loud, Ronniekins?"  
  
"Yeah, man. We were just teasing- you know that," grinned George. "You guys fight way too much to like each other like that."  
  
"Good," said Ron under his breath. "I-  
  
Fred rolled his eyes and stuffed a huge piece of pie in his brother's mouth before he could say anything.  
  
"Mmmph!!! Hmm thkm emm im hmph!" Ron said.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," George grinned.  
  
Ron swallowed with one huge gulp and turned to Harry. "Let's get out of here," he said, pulling at his arm.  
  
Harry shrugged and got up behind his best friend, and was turning to go when he felt someone's gaze on him. He lifted his head only to meet Ginny's dark eyes watching him- was it with concern? And then she blushed and looked away  
  
"Come on, mate," urged Ron. "We'll go to your room. Ours looks like a stampede crashed through it."  
  
"Well the twins were there weren't they?" Harry grinned. They flopped down in armchairs when they reached the comfortable inn room. Harry watched the tall wizard next to him and saw he didn't look too happy.  
  
"Cheer up," he told him, telling himself for the millionth time that he'd switch with Ron's problems any day. "Krum isn't worth being angry about."  
  
"I don't *care* about Krum," Ron scowled. " I care that *she's* hanging with the enemy!"  
  
Somehow Harry doubted this, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "He's not the enemy; Voldemort is." His eyes darkened.  
  
Ron winced. Harry had the urge to scream 'VOLDEMORT!' at the top of his voice so the whole inn could hear, but he restrained himself.  
  
"Look at me, talking about a silly thing like Krum while you were almost killed yesterday," Ron said suddenly. "God, I'm such a prat."  
  
Harry forced a laugh. "Don't worry about it. The less I talk about it, the better."  
  
"You were really lucky, you know," Ron shuddered.  
  
*Yeah, as usual. One day I'm not going to be so lucky.*  
  
Ron and Hermione knew by now about his narrow escape from the Death Eaters and his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, (Hermione by owl) but they knew nothing about his depression and nightmares. Ron, though, like the others, could sense it.  
  
"Harry, pal, you look worn out."  
  
Harry fixed his gaze on the window. He hated lying to his friends, but he knew they'd just be worried over nothing and make a big fuss about him. He didn't want that; the last thing he needed now was more attention.  
  
"I'm fine, really." Harry had lost count of how many times he'd said that recently.  
  
Ron shrugged. "If you say so," he yawned. "I'm turning in," he said, looking at his watch. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." He headed towards the door.  
  
"Yeah. See you."  
  
After Ron was gone, Harry tried to get himself engrossed in the new book he'd gotten, but found he couldn't concentrate. He sighed and shut the book with a snap.  
  
He wanted to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. Suddenly all he could think about was Cedric, and his earlier nightmare, and the words, 'I'll see you soon, Harry.' He hadn't said that in the other nightmares. Harry shivered.  
  
With a rush of gratefulness, he remembered the Sleeping Potion Dumbledore had given him earlier. Good; he'd use that. He tiredly took off his clothes and got into some old pajamas of his. They were the only pair he owned, well other than Dudley's outgrown ones.  
  
He was turning to blow out the candles, when he heard a soft noise behind him- a rustle or so. His spine stiffened, and instinctively he gripped his wand he'd even put in the pocket of his pajamas.  
  
*You're becoming more and more like Mad- Eye Moody everyday Potter- stop being so paranoid.*  
  
But there it was again- the rustling. And then the sound of shoes shifting on the ground. A clump- was that wood?  
  
Harry could feel himself shaking. His logic told him that there was no one there- it just didn't make sense for someone to be in his room now. But his instinct told him otherwise..  
  
He took his wand out, braced himself, and jumped around, his right arm pointed. What he saw made his jaw drop in a silent scream.  
  
"Please don't yell," the old man said. "I'm not here to hurt you." He lifted his palms out. "See? I can't even do magic," he said in a croaky voice. The candlelight illuminated his sad, angry, wrinkled face, and he was carrying a wooden cane.  
  
Harry's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. "I..I.. know you," he whispered, keeping his wand trailed on the man. "But you can't..it can't be."  
  
Suddenly memories flooded him: an old graveyard, the tall, skeletally thin wizard with the red slit eyes, the gray images coming out of that wand..an old man.."  
  
The room spun around him, and he felt like he was going to faint. He staggered back against the wall, not believing what he saw. His eyes were surely playing tricks on him. Yes, that was it. After all those nightmares, he had finally cracked.  
  
"Are you all right?" the man asked.  
  
"Go away," Harry moaned. "You're not real."  
  
"Well you got that right."  
  
Suddenly he stood erect, and his eyes burnt green fire. "Is this some kind of low, sick trick? Throwing it in my face, are you? What next, pretend to be my parents back from the dead?!" he snarled. Anger coursed through every vein in his body.  
  
"No - it's not like that..you don't understand."  
  
"Who are you?! Are you the same as that McKinnon person, in disguise? Tell me now! Or are you one of that bastard Malfoy's damn hoodlums?!"  
  
"Keep it down!" the man hissed.  
  
"Afraid of getting caught, are you?"  
  
"No, afraid that people'll think you're crazy. They won't see anyone here if you call them."  
  
Harry stared at him. "Very funny."  
  
"Just listen to me, will you? Look, you have that wand thing- you can hurt me anytime you want to. It won't hurt you to listen. I don't know why I should explain, but I've got a feeling that you should know."  
  
Harry considered. "Fine," he said finally. "But keep it quick."  
  
The man nodded, then he scratched his head in thought, looking flustered. "Okay, look- it's Potter, right? Okay.. my name is Bryce. You seemed to recognize me - I don't know how- but this will make things easier." He paused. Harry looked steadily at him, his wand still out.  
  
"I- I'm dead. I'm not a living person," Frank Bryce said.  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Muggles don't become ghosts," he said.  
  
"Gracious Lord, you lot have ghosts too? No, I'm not a ghost."  
  
"Okay, let me get this straight." His heart was pounding, both with anger and fear. He was sure this was some new plot Voldemort had cracked up to get him, and this really wasn't Frank Bryce. "You're saying you're a Muggle, you're dead, but you're not a ghost- and now you stand here talking to me. Do you think I'm stupid?"  
  
"No, and it's perfectly normal that you don't believe me. But it's true." He looked tired and weary, and as though he himself had no idea why he was here, and talking to Harry, instead of lying peacefully in his grave.  
  
"Prove it." Harry's eyes were hard.  
  
"Can you continue hearing me out first?" he asked, sounding exasperated. Harry heard him mutter something that sounded like, "I'd take the war again over this.. at least that was normal.. tuh..lunacy.."  
  
Harry nodded at him, wondering if all this was a dream.  
  
"All right..now.. this is really strange," he sighed. "I'm still dead- literally, and no one can see me. And suddenly I found myself here, and for some reason.. I *knew* where I was, that I was surrounded by magic, and that you're the scar boy or something- and that lunatic creature thing who killed me - wants you dead too."  
  
"No kidding," muttered Harry.  
  
"I have no idea why I'm here.. why only you can see me- and when I'm dead I'm really dead..I don't feel nothin' but now it's just like I'm living again. And I hate it- you listen here boy, how would it feel to you to know that you're dead and then be teased with life for a little while, when all along you know you don't belong here- and you're gonna die again?"  
  
"Not so good," replied Harry, his brain whizzing. Could he possibly be telling the truth? But how- it was just..too crazy..too weird..why?how?who?! That McKinnon person- he must be one of them, too, or were they all in on the trick?  
  
"I've got to go," Bryce said somberly. "I don't know if I'll be back again.. you take care of yourself, young Potter."  
  
"Wait- I!"  
  
But he wasn't anywhere to be seen. He had gone, just like that.  
  
"Shit!" He angrily threw a book against the wall. It made a loud thud and fell on the floor.  
  
"Why me? Why me?! Aurgh!" he growled in frustration. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this angry, and he felt like he had the power to curse and destroy everything within ten feet of him. He was practically shaking with rage.  
  
Everything, *everything*, had to happen to him, the Boy Who Lived. Maybe they'd back off him when he became the Boy Who Died. Probably they would. Or maybe they'd agonize him even in death, somehow.  
  
His mind was so full with thoughts, anger, fear, and worries that he didn't sleep a wink the whole night, and he was completely exhausted when the knock came on his room's door the next morning. 


End file.
